


ask me no questions (and I'll tell you no lies)

by colourexplosion



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, yahoo answers plays a big part in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-08
Updated: 2015-05-08
Packaged: 2018-03-29 13:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3898210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/pseuds/colourexplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Louis clicks the new tab button, fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing in Yahoo Answers. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>He can’t believe he’s doing this. Again.</i></p><p> </p><p>or, an au where people actually use yahoo answers for stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ask me no questions (and I'll tell you no lies)

**Author's Note:**

> hiiii!! so this is an early birthday present for [Geeb](http://genuinelybelieve.tumblr.com), who is wonderful and deserves lots of nice things. hopefully this is one of them. 
> 
> a big thanks to kate and addy, who both looked this over for me and helped me work it out! please don't show to anyone even remotely related to the band. thanks! 
> 
> enjoy!

Louis is desperate. Really, really terribly desperate. He’s invited his whole family -- his mum and all four sisters -- to his new flat. It’s the first one he’s ever had on his own, paid for with his wages from his new, adult job and he really wants to show his mum that he’s actually grown up and done something with his life. 

For some reason, in Louis’ mind, being able to make a full dinner and dessert from scratch equates to adulthood. Yeah, he doesn’t understand it either. 

The meal itself had been fine -- a simple spag bol that he’d found an easy recipe for and that hadn’t tasted terrible when he’d tested it out the other day. The cake he’s decided to make for dessert is a different story, however. Well, it’s not really the cake itself. That part’s fine. What’s going to ruin him is the whipped cream frosting. He’s got to actually whip it. By hand! He has no idea how to do that. Normally he’d call his mum, but he’s trying to impress her, so that’s not going to happen. He can’t find any videos on how to make a whipped cream frosting -- none that will actually load on his shit internet, at least -- and desperate times call for desperate measures. 

He opens a new tab and types in the address for Yahoo Answers. 

_How do you whisk???_ he writes, not sparing the time to worry about how his yahoo account picture is, for some reason, an egg and the mail link has a terrifyingly huge number next to it. He just hits F5 to refresh the page and prays someone answers him in the next thirty minutes while the cake bakes. 

\---

Twenty-eight minutes later, Louis hits F5 one final time. The page reloads with an answer and Louis stands so quickly that he knocks his chair over. He hunches over the table and scrolls down to read. 

_harrybananass: it’s all in the wrist xx_

What the fuck? 

Louis frowns, hits F5 again to see if this banana fellow has said anything else. It seems as though he hasn’t. Damn it. Louis shuts his laptop and stares at the mixing bowl and whisk on his counter. All in the wrist, eh? Well. Louis supposes the best way to find out is to try it. 

\---

It is, unsurprisingly, a complete disaster. 

Louis ends up with heavy cream and egg splattered all over the kitchen, a puddle of vanilla extract on the work surface that he puts his hand down in and leaves it reeking, and egg shell in his hair. He’s not entirely sure how it’s ended up quite so badly. 

He hadn’t known how to use the whisk properly, so it the cream and egg kept sloshing over the side of the bowl as he tried to get it right. He’d given up on that and rifled through his cabinets and found an electric mixer his mum must have given him when he moved. He’d seen her use it enough times that he felt better about it than the whisk. So, he’d tried it. 

It was probably the wrong choice, in the end. 

Louis takes one last look at his kitchen and sighs in defeat, pulling out his phone. _might want to stop by the store and grab some frosting_ , he types out and sends to his mum. She’ll probably have a good laugh when he tells her the whole thing. 

He puts his phone down and sets to work cleaning the kitchen. When he’s done, he sees that his mum has sent him a reply that they’ll be a bit late, so he sits down at the table. He could start dinner, probably, but also he’s got enough time to fuck around on the internet a bit. One check of his e-mail can’t hurt. 

He opens up his laptop, rolling his eyes when the Yahoo Answers page reloads. There’s still only one reply on it, the seriously unhelpful one, and the absurdity of the whole thing is probably what makes Louis click inside the reply box and start typing.

 _louist91: @harrybananass thanks for the advice mate !! ended up with it all over my kitchen anyway. are you a professional cooking teacher? if so, might want to change your teaching methods._

Pleased with himself, Louis presses _submit_. The doorbell goes immediately after and he shuts his laptop again, gathering it up and going to let his mum in.

\---

Louis is quite possibly going to murder Nick Grimshaw. 

It’s not a new urge -- in fact it’s pretty ordinary for Louis to want to smack him on a daily basis -- but this time it’s too much. He’d let himself be talked into a picnic at the park with Nick and his weirdo friends. Louis thought that meant they’d be eating at a table or something, but no. Apparently, Mick -- Nick’s weirdo American-rock-climbing-hippy-boyfriend -- meant a _real_ picnic. On the ground. With bugs. 

So now Louis’ legs are covered with huge red ant bites that itch and sting and the only thing his mum told him to do about it was _try some ice or some calamine_. A quick internet search had told him the same sort of thing (along with cortisone, regular lotion, a rag dipped in cold water, an oatmeal bath, rubbing alcohol and putting bandaids over every single bite) but Louis refuses to accept that. There has to be an instant solution. He refuses to accept that his les are going to itch so badly for the next week that he’ll want to cut them off. There has to be some secret. 

He clicks the new tab button, fingers hovering over the keyboard before typing in _Yahoo Answers_. 

He can’t believe he’s doing this. Again. 

_got mauled by ants at the park. is there any way to make my legs feel like they’re not on fire????_

He doesn’t sit and refresh the page like he had last time. Instead, he forces himself out of the chair and into the bathroom. Maybe a cold bath will help. 

\---

Louis stays in as long as he can, until he feels his core body temp drop a bit too low and starts to shiver, teeth chattering as he gets out of the water. He wraps himself in his fluffiest towel -- taking care to pat his legs dry very carefully -- and slathers his legs in some lotion he found in his cabinet. He’s not entirely sure it’s his, but it’s not expired and it smells okay, and once he puts it on the bites, they feel better instantly. They look less red as well, so maybe if he just avoids touching them for a week they’ll be alright. 

Yeah, like that’ll ever happen. 

He rolls his eyes at himself, grabs his laptop and settles onto the couch to watch something on Netflix. He goes to click into the address bar on the Yahoo Answers page, but he can’t help but wonder if anyone responded. Probably not. Yahoo Answers is ancient. Louis isn’t really sure why he’s used it the two times that he has. There’s something sort of funny about it, he supposes, the fact that he’s effectively shouting into a void, but then again, Louis always has loved the sound of his own voice. 

He hits refresh because he can and rolls his eyes at himself. 

Three people have replied. Surprising. 

The first is more of what Louis has already seen -- the lotions, the baths, etc -- and the second seems to be some sort of ad, and the third. 

The third is none other than harrybananass, the unhelpful arse from the frosting debacle. 

_harrybananass: dunno mate, reckon you’ll turn into a vampire_

Louis sighs. Honestly. It’s not even funny! If this bloke -- or bird, he guesses, but probably not -- is some sort of troll, he’s a really shit one. Like, a really, really shit one. Turn into a vampire? Please. Louis can’t just let this stand. 

_louist91: @harrybananass doesn’t sound so bad !! did always love to suck_

All right, it’s a bit heavy-handed, but Louis clicks submit before he can think the better of it and clicks out of the tab. He finds a dumb movie to watch and absolutely doesn’t think about some idiot on the internet. 

\---

The thing is, of course, that Louis obviously thinks about it a lot. He doesn’t know why, because it’s not as if this faceless _harrybananass_ has done or said anything harmful. He’s probably just some teenager who’s got nothing better to do with his time, and it shouldn’t bother Louis so much, but it does. He just can’t -- God. He just can’t stop thinking about it! 

It’s the dumbest thing in the world, probably, and it’s even dumber that he starts going to yahoo more frequently, posting questions that he doesn’t really need the answers to just to see if _harrybananass_ will answer him. 

He does. Every single time. 

Louis posts a question once every few days, ranging from _is it safe to eat macaroni that’s been left out overnight_? (no) to _do cats know that front doors and back doors lead the same place_ (also no)? He learns quite a bit, actually, from other helpful people, but still can’t keep himself from grinning each time Harry -- that must be his name, and if it’s not it is now -- answers him. 

He clicks on Harry’s username once, just to see his profile, but it’s empty. Just his yahoo email account is listed, and his hometown. It also says that he’s been a member since 2008, so he (hopefully) isn’t a teenager, but Louis honestly has no idea. He considers e-mailing him, but he doesn’t even know what he’d say. _Hi, my name’s Louis and I really love when you answer my questions_??? No. He can’t. 

So, Louis baits him. Asks increasingly ridiculous questions and grins each time he gets an increasingly ridiculous answer. Goes to sleep hoping Harry will respond and wakes up and checks his e-mail first thing. He’s actually cleaned out his yahoo account so it’s easier to see the alerts that he’s gotten a response. It’s a serious problem. 

It goes on for a few weeks, until one night when Louis, absolutely frantic, can’t find his keys. 

He needs his keys, because he won’t be able to get back into his flat and there’s no way he’s leaving it unlocked. His friend Zayn has his spare, but Zayn’s off in France for the week with his fiance, and Louis is seriously fucked. 

He plops down on the couch, his head in his hands, trying to remember where he might’ve put them when he notices his yahoo tab is still open from earlier. And, all right, he knows that no one is going to know where his keys are and he knows _harrybananass_ definitely won’t and he knows it’s illogical, he does, but also it makes him feel better to post about it. It makes him feel a bit less lonely when he screams into the void and someone screams back, even if they’re not even helping. It’s stupid, probably, but it’s how he feels. 

Before he can second guess himself, Louis pulls his laptop toward him and types _WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY KEYS????_

He clicks submit and leans back on the couch, inhaling a deep breath as he does so. There. He feels better already. 

His computer dings softly at him, and when he glances up he notices the little envelope’s got a red “1” over it. He knows it’s probably just spam, but he clicks it anyway, feels himself grin when he reads _New response on your post WHERE THE…_

Louis clicks it immediately, the smile on his face growing when he reads the username. 

_harrybananass responded to your post: in your freezer xx_

Louis laughs despite himself, shaking his head. Of course they’re not in his freezer. He’d checked alrea -- Wait. Had he checked? He frowns, glances toward the fridge, eyeing the bright alphabet magnets suspiciously. Currently, they spell out LOU LUVS DICK, courtesy of Zayn, and Louis really should change those before his mum visits again. 

But, right. He gets up slowly, setting his laptop down carefully before moving into the kitchen. He takes hold of the handle, telling himself it’s stupid to be checking. His keys aren’t in his freezer. He’s already checked. They’re not. They’re not! He pulls the door open and looks in. 

His keys are nestled in between a bottle of cheap vodka and a box of fish fingers. What the fuck? 

He grabs them, shaking his head at himself and goes back to the couch, pulling his laptop back into his lap. 

_louist91: @harrysbananass, you do talk a lot of shit, but you were right about my keys !! thanks !_

He clicks submit, closes his laptop and grabs his cold keys. He gathers the rest of the stuff he needs and makes his way out the door, trying to shake off the weird feeling that’s settled between his shoulder blades. 

\---

He goes to Nick’s for a dinner party, which means he has to sit around for hours listening to Nick’s friends blather on about music and fashion and clubs and that he has to pretend to know what they fuck they’re talking about _and_ watch Nick make out with Mick, which is gross. Nick’s mouth is just so huge, is all. He looks like he could swallow Mick whole. 

It’s not a bad party, really. Louis actually quite likes Nick and all his friends when he’s not worked himself into a bizarre funk about some bloke on the internet. They’re just keys. He’s just a person. They’ve never even really had a conversation. 

Louis gets a bit drunk about it. It’s not healthy, but it’s how he chooses to deal with the situation. He’s still young enough that it doesn’t matter much anyway. He’s supposed to make bad choices, right? Right. 

By the time he gets home -- took the tube and walked, obviously -- most of his buzz has worn off and he just wants to go to bed. He shuffles through the front door, locking it behind him and grabbing his laptop on the way into his room. He plugs it in to charge, as well as his phone, and strips off his tight jeans. He snuggles himself under the covers and turns out his light, but once he does it’s like all the exhaustion just… disappears. He finds himself staring at the ceiling, restless and unable to sleep. Damn it. 

He sits up and grabs his laptop, opening it and clicking into Netflix. A dumb cartoon will help. 

The computer dings, and his eyes automatically go to the envelope in the right-hand corner. It’s got a little “5” over it this time, and Louis knows the fact that there are messages will annoy him so much that he won’t sleep. 

He clicks on it, skimming through the titles, selecting the two ads and two responses to old questions of his. The last makes him pause. 

_Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii_ the subject line reads, right next to the sender column, which says, _harrybananass_. 

They’ve never e-mailed each other before. That’s -- Well.

Louis clicks it. 

_Hiiiii louist91!_

_Um, I hope this is okay for me to do and not like, creepy or anything, but I just thought it was odd that we were sort of talking through vague comments and stuff and not like, through e-mails. Anyway, feel free to tell me to fuck off or whatever._

_You might’ve already guessed, but I’m Harry. It’s nice to (sort of?) meet you._

_Glad you found your keys!  
xx Harry_

Louis stares at the message for a long time. This is -- It’s -- It feels like a big deal, for some reason. Louis knows it’s not, because people e-mail each other all the time and it’s a very, very normal thing to do, but it’s still -- It just feels Big. With a capital B. 

Should he write back? If he doesn’t write back, Harry -- he was right about his name, ha! -- will probably think Louis thinks he’s a weirdo and not interested, and that would mean Louis couldn’t keep baiting him with posts. Because then it would be really weird, right? Maybe. God, Louis is too tired to deal with this, but he knows if he doesn’t reply now, he won’t in the future, either. 

He takes a deep breath and starts to type. 

_Hello!_

_I thought maybe your name might be Harold, but it’s nice to sort of meet you as well! As you may have also guessed, my name is Louis._

Louis pauses. He sounds so odd and formal. Awkward. But it is sort of an awkward situation. Ugh. He selects all the text and deletes it, starting over. 

_Hiya harry, good to know I am a master at guessing people’s names. bet you can’t figure out mine. anyway, definitely not creepy and thanks again about the keys! I can’t believe you were right…_

_talk to you soon! (maybe?)_

He presses send once he’s made sure he hasn’t mangled any words and closes the tab. He opens Netflix, chooses the strangest looking cartoon he can find and lets it lull him to sleep. 

\---

**To: louist91@yahoo.co.uk  
** From: harrybananass@yahoo.co.uk  
April 15 

_I’m gonna guess your name is t91, and that you’re a robot. or maybe an alien sent to study the human race because that’s the only reason I can think of for why you’d actually use yahoo answers for help. I know you probably want me to think your name is Louis, but I’m smarter than that._

_I’m also pretty good at guessing where people left their keys, obviously._

**To: harrybananass@yahoo.co.uk  
** From: louist91@yahoo.co.uk  
April 15 

_well, harold, you’ve caught me. I am in fact an alien from the planet zargon and my name is t91. I thought I was being sneaky but obviously not. you must teach me your clever human ways!!_

_what’s your excuse?_

**To: louist91@yahoo.co.uk  
** From: harrybananass@yahoo.co.uk  
April 16 

_mostly I get bored in breaks between classes. and my name’s just harry. not harold. :)_

_hey, what’s a duck’s favorite dip?_

**To: harrybananass@yahoo.co.uk  
** From: louist91@yahoo.co.uk  
April 16 

_it’s harold now, sorry. I have no idea what a duck’s favorite dip is, but I have a feeling you’ll tell me. I hope you do, actually, as the suspense has gotten almost too great for me to bear._

**To: louist91@yahoo.co.uk  
** From: harrybananass@yahoo.co.uk  
April 16 

_quackamole. back to work for me!_

\---

Louis stares at his laptop screen, his tea mug frozen in place halfway to his mouth. He’s in public, which is probably the only reason he hasn’t shouted something ridiculous. He just can’t believe that Harry’s so… Harry. So nerdy and and seemingly unapologetic about it. He thought that maybe if he had an actual conversation with Harry that he might get over his strange infatuation. Aparently not, though, because Harry’s just told him a very cheesy joke and instead of thinking Harry’s a prat, Louis finds him charming. 

_harry_ he types out, after finally taking a sip from his tea and setting it down, _that was absolutely awful. I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me. I will require a full list of all terrible jokes in your arsenal asap._

He clicks send and sits back in his chair, eyes scanning around the morning crowd at the coffee shop. He comes here a few times a week, since it’s on his way to and from work. Sometimes he’ll wake up early enough for a morning latte, but usually he stops by in the afternoon for a pick-me-up after work. He likes it because it’s small and convenient, and also all of the baristas are cute. There’s one with big brown puppy-dog eyes named Liam who always manages to be working the register when Louis comes in, a blond bloke with a loud laugh and an Irish accent, and a tall boy with curly hair who shuffles around behind the counter. Louis definitely doesn’t picture him as Harry sometimes. Definitely doesn’t, because that would be Weird. Very weird. 

Louis’ gaze stops where the curly headed boy’s leaned up against the doorframe to the kitchen. He’s looking down at his phone and smiling so deeply that his cheeks have dimpled. He bites his bottom lip and his fingers move like he’s typing something out, but the blond barista knocks him in the shoulder with the broom and he jumps. Louis laughs at how his face contorts into an adorably grumpy expression. 

Except, he must’ve laughed louder than he thought, because the boy looks up, straight at him, and Louis feels his cheeks heat and sees the boy’s pink up. God, oh god, he’s such a creep. He was staring forever! People probably saw him. Now he just looks like a weirdo. 

He gives the boy an awkward wave and goes back to his computer. He opens a new page and goes to Yahoo Answers. 

_How do I keep from embarrassing myself in public?_ he types. 

He closes the tab without posting. 

\---

Louis doesn’t check his e-mail again until later that night, after he’s made dinner and unwound a bit. He can’t stop thinking about the boy at the coffee shop, who he’d stared at for so long. Louis wishes he knew his name, or what he sounded like or -- or anything because having an impractical crush on a barista was better than having a crush on a faceless internet acquaintance. Not that Louis has a crush on Harry, obviously, but if he did, he’d probably hate himself for it a little bit. He doesn’t even know where Harry lives. 

He could probably ask, though. 

Louis opens his e-mail to do just that, smiling when he sees he already has a message from Harry waiting. 

_sorry, my jokes are a closely guarded secret. if I told you I’d have to kill you. hope you understand._

Louis rolls his eyes. 

_harold, please. I know that means that you’ve only got the one joke, which, frankly, is a disappointment. work on that. is it weird if I ask where you’re from or what you do? are we that kind of internet friend or are we just the kind that exchange bad jokes?_

He sends it and forces himself to focus on some crap show on the telly until he hears his computer ding. 

_one, I had no idea this was an exchange, as you’ve yet to give me any jokes. two, I live in london and work as a barista. three, we can be any kind of friends you want ;)_

Louis snorts as he reads, his cheeks flushing at the suggestive smiley face Harry’s used. Christ, that’s stupid of him, isn’t it? It’s probably a joke -- No, no. It’s definitely a joke, but Louis’ still blushing like Harry’s trying to flirt with him. Louis really needs to get a handle on his life. 

_two, I live in London as well! small world, eh? three, sounds good. one, why did the tea file a police report?_

He presses send and immediately pulls up a new e-mail to Harry and types: 

_because it was mugged!_

Harry’s response comes soon after. 

_I laughed so loud that I scared my flatmate. good one! goodnight!_

Louis smiles at himself, pleased. He sends a quick goodnight to Harry -- it’d be rude otherwise, wouldn’t it -- and closes his laptop. He goes to sleep smiling. 

\---

Weeks pass and Louis falls into a routine. He wakes up, goes to work, checks his e-mails, responds to whatever pressing work matter there is and then trades jokes or anecdotes with Harry throughout the day. Most of Harry’s stories involve him tripping over something or spilling a customer’s drink, and Harry usually takes two or three e-mails to tell the whole thing, but Louis finds himself growing increasingly fond. He tells Harry about his family -- and the disastrous whisking incident -- and in turn learns about Harry’s mum and sister and step-father. It’s exactly like getting to know someone in real life, except he has no idea what Harry looks like. 

He knows he could. He’s sure if he asked Harry for a picture of himself he’d send one in a heartbeat, but Louis finds he doesn’t really care either way. It doesn’t matter what Harry looks like, because he knows Harry’s personality and his weirdo sense of humor and likes him regardless. (Besides, he’d hate to send one in return and not be what Harry’s expecting.) He knows where he stands with Harry. Or he thinks he does, at least. 

\---

Louis wakes one Wednesday morning half an hour earlier than usual, and instead of rolling over and going back to sleep, he gets up and gets ready for his day. The extra time means he shaves and does his hair up in a quiff, even though it’ll probably be a mess by the end of the day. Even with the time it took to do his hair he has an extra few minutes, so he skips making himself tea and slips into the coffee shop instead. 

Liam’s at the register like always, so Louis doesn’t even need to rattle off his order. He just stands by the counter and waits, dicking around on his phone until Liam taps him on the shoulder. Louis takes the cup and thanks him, turning to leave. He spots a familiar head of curly hair in the corner of his eye and glances over, heart fluttering stupidly at the sight of the cute barista. As if he can feel Louis’ gaze, the barista lifts his head and looks at him, giving him a bright smile. It doesn’t help Louis’ fluttery heart situation. 

Louis returns the smile and lifts his hand in a wave before practically fleeing. He gets to work and slides into his chair, clicking open his e-mail before his morning meeting. He skims the memos from his boss and goes right into the personal ones, bouncing a little in his seat when he realizes there are two from Harry. One’s a reply to a question Louis asked him the previous night (the best way to get red wine out of a white shirt is fizzy water and baking soda, apparently) and the other seems to be from this morning. 

_have you ever had a crush on someone you shouldn’t? not like because it’s forbidden or something but just someone you know it can never go anywhere with?_

Louis chews on his bottom lip, trying to quell the hope bubbling up in his chest. Harry doesn’t mean him, he knows. He can’t. They don’t -- They’re friends. They’ve never met. That’s fine. He doesn’t need Harry to have a crush on him and he definitely doesn’t have one on Harry. Louis just hasn’t been in a relationship in a while and is lonely, or something. That must be it. 

Louis shakes off the weird feeling and puts his fingers to the keys. 

_course I have! part of life innit? sucks a bit though_

Harry responds almost instantly, as if he were waiting for Louis’ reply. No, of course he wasn’t. Still, Louis takes a deep breath before opening it. 

_god it does. there’s this customer … he comes in a few times a week and he’s just so beautiful?? I turn into a donut around him. don’t even know his name._

Louis swallows and takes a long drink of his tea to fight how dry his throat’s suddenly gone. He’s not disappointed. He’s just -- he’s not really sure what he feels. It’s just bizarre to be reminded of how little a role he plays in Harry’s life. It feels like he’s known him forever, but he hasn’t. They’ve never even met. 

Christ, he’s being strange. Louis shakes himself again and minimizes the window. He can reply to the e-mail after his meeting. It’ll keep. 

\---

**To: harrybananass@yahoo.co.uk  
** From: louist91@yahoo.co.uk  
April 18 

_well, young harold, I can only tell you that your best bet is to talk to him. maybe try asking his name? or spilling a drink on him. the second seems more like something you’d do._

**To: louist91@yahoo.co.uk  
** From: harrybananass@yahoo.co.uk  
April 18 

_heeeeeeeey. okay. yes. that may be true, but I don’t think he’d appreciate scalding coffee on his crotch. would you?_

**To: harrybananass@yahoo.co.uk  
** From: louist91@yahoo.co.uk  
April 18 

_I only drink tea, so no, I wouldn’t like my dick burned off, thanks. honestly, I’m sure you’ll be fine._

\---

Louis hits _send_ , satisfied with how encouraging and not at all jealous he’s managed to make himself sound. Obviously Louis isn’t actually jealous, just annoyed that Harry’s focusing his attention on someone that isn’t him. Louis is like that with everyone. Gets annoyed when Zayn spends too much time texting his fiance when they’re hanging out or when someone at the office gets a bigger laugh out of a joke than he does. It’s totally, totally normal. The only difference is that it’s over the internet. 

He packs up his laptop and the manuscript he was meant to be reading over his lunch. He’s probably going to be late getting back to the office, but if it’s not too long he can blame it on traffic or something. Paul doesn’t really care either way. Louis picks up his plate and empty cup, turning to take them to the back of the cafe. 

Except the moment he turns, he runs smack into someone else. 

“Oh, shit, sorry,” Louis says, fumbling the dishes and barely managing to catch them before they fall to the ground. “Sorry, sorry.” 

“No, um, that was my fault,” a surprisingly deep voice says. Louis glances up, his cheeks heating when he realizes it’s the curly-headed barista that he’s just nearly tackled. Great. Not he probably thinks Louis is even more of a spaz than before. 

“No, no, didn’t look where I was going,” Louis says, flashing what’s meant to be a charming smile. He feels off-kilter, though, so it may look like more of a grimace. 

The barista smiles back at him though, and gestures to the plate. “I can take those, if you’d like,” he says, and Louis nods gratefully. He really is very late for work. 

“Yeah, thanks.” Louis hands the dishes to the man, says another quick thanks and flees. He can feel his face flaming with embarrassment, and he has to grab the manuscript and fan himself before he cools off. He can’t go into the office like this; everyone will ask him if he’s alright, and he doesn’t much feel like reliving the embarrassment. 

Once he’s properly settled down, he puts the papers back into his bag and makes his way to the office, trying to think up a good excuse to give Paul when he gets in. 

\---

Unsurprisingly, Louis’ excuse about getting stuck in a crowd that’d gathered to look at an overturned lorry in the middle of the street hadn’t been well-received, and it meant Paul sent him to the archives room to work on transferring their paper files into digital. Photocopying a whole room of manuscripts isn’t Louis’ idea of fun, but it’s better than waiting tables or cleaning out bathrooms. He’ll take what he can get. 

By the time he gets home, his back’s sore from lifting boxes and he’s been sneezing non-stop from the dust. Everything itches, and he doesn’t even need to log onto Yahoo Answers to know that the best thing for him to do is take a shower and rinse it all off. 

He’s much better afterward, and plops himself down on the couch to order himself a pizza. The red box pops up above his mail link and he clicks it without giving it much thought, pleased to see an email from Harry. 

_operation: ask cute customer his name was a complete disaster. don’t ask why. don’t want to talk about it._

Louis frowns. He hadn’t known Harry was going to take him seriously, and the thought of Harry getting rejected makes his chest pang with sympathy. He feels a bit badly, actually, almost as if it’s his fault, but -- no. No. It’s not his fault that Harry’s mystery customer is enough of an idiot to give Harry the cold shoulder. 

Right. Operation: Cheer Up Harry will have to begin. 

_sorry to hear that, mate. only a massive idiot wouldn’t give you a chance. anyway, what do you call an elephant that doesn’t matter?_

He sends it, and opens another tab to order his pizza. He’s just selecting the option for double cheese -- he’s earned it, all right? -- when his computer pings at him with a message. 

It’s Harry, of course. Who else would it be. 

_dunno, what?_

Louis sighs and types out his answer. 

_an irrelephant._

Harry’s reply comes just as he presses the order button on his pizza. 

_thank you. really xx_

Louis won’t ever admit it, but he blushes at the inclusion of the kisses. He’s sure that they’re just Harry’s way of saying thanks, or they’re like, a friendly thing, so it’s not a big deal at all. They’re not even real kisses! Just two little letter x’s that help Harry show gratitude. Louis just really likes being appreciated, is all. 

He clears his throat and shakes himself off before replying. 

_dunno what you’re on about. anyway, my mum’s coming to visit and I’ve got to make her dinner again. any suggestions?_

There. Topic sufficiently changed. Maybe now they’ll never have to talk about crushes ever again.

\--- 

Life goes on in the same little routine Louis’ set up for himself. He wakes, he works, he stops by the coffee shop every now and then, he emails Harry, he sleeps, rinse and repeat. 

Some things are different, of course. For one, he rarely ever sees cute curly-headed barista in the coffee shop anymore, and when he does it seems like he’s purposefully avoiding looking at Louis. One time Louis watched as he walked swiftly toward the kitchens, his head bowed so low that he couldn’t see anyone coming and nearly ran into three different people. Perhaps he’d been just as embarrassed as Louis had about their run in, but Louis doesn’t see why that would scare him off. It just doesn’t seem right. Maybe he’d intimidated the poor boy with his stunning good looks. Or scared him off with how hideous he was. 

Either way, it’s a bit odd. It’s nothing he can’t handle, though. 

The other thing that’s different are Harry’s e-mails. Well, the emails themselves aren’t different, per se, but Louis’ interpretation of them is much different than it was. Before, when Louis thought maybe they were flirting, he’d gotten a great sort of squirmy feeling in his chest that made him happy. Now when Louis reads them, he can’t help but imagine the bloke Harry’s got a crush on, the one who comes into his work. He must be tall and fit and gorgeous and probably has a brilliant laugh and would find all of Harry’s dumb jokes funny and Louis would like to stop thinking about it, really he would, but he can’t. He can’t! 

“Please bleach my brain,” Louis groans, dramatically flopping onto the couch so hard that Zayn bounces a little. He narrows his eyes at Louis, and digs a pointy finger into his ribs. 

“What’s wrong with you, then?” 

Louis sighs. He feels a bit stupid about it all, because it’s honestly a ridiculous situation to be in. He’s so embarrassed that he hasn’t actually told anyone. 

“Well, I’ve been like, talking to this guy,” he starts. He makes a face, unsure how to continue. Zayn just sits there, patiently. Or, maybe not patiently, but definitely not impatiently but also maybe a little nonplussed. And a little unimpressed. But that’s how Zayn looks all the time, so Louis doesn’t really know if that has much to do with what he’s talking about. 

“Out with it,” Zayn says, startling Louis out of his thoughts. Louis takes a deep breath. 

“So I’ve been talking to him, and I really like him. He’s really weird but also really funny, and we’re kind of like, alike in some ways? And I really like that.” 

“Okay.” Zayn nods. “So what’s the problem?” 

“Um.” Louis takes another deep breath. “Well I suppose there’s two,” he says, toying with the piping on the cushion. “The main one is that, um. I’ve never met him.” 

Zayn doesn’t say anything for so long that Louis looks up at him, only to find him staring at him, definitely unimpressed this time. 

“You’ve been talking to him,” he says, and Louis nods. “But you’ve never met him?” Louis shakes his head. Zayn frowns. “How’re you talking to him, then? Did you find his number on a bathroom wall?” 

“What? No!” Louis punches Zayn in the shoulder. “Twat. I like -- We’ve been e-mailing.” 

“E-mailing,” Zayn repeats, still unimpressed and rubbing the spot where Louis hit him. 

Louis nods. “E-mailing. Like, messaging.” 

Zayn narrows his eyes. “So, what? You’re worried he’ll be fuck ugly?” 

“No,” Louis says, affronted. There’s no way Harry could be ugly. He knows that. He might not end up looking like Zayn, but no one looks like Zayn. Everyone’s ugly compared to Zayn. “I’m just -- don’t you think that’s weird? That it’s like, an Internet thing?” 

“No,” Zayn answers, shrugging. “It’s the Twenty-first century, Lou. People meet on the Internet all the time. There’s apps for it, even. It’s probably the least weird thing about you.” 

Louis frowns. He hadn’t thought of it that way. Maybe because Yahoo Answers isn’t really the same thing as Grindr. Oh god, what if Harry has a Grindr account? How would Louis even know? Wait. 

“Well, it doesn’t matter either way,” he says, shaking his head. “Because Harry’s got a crush on one of his customers, or something.” 

Zayn frowns at him. “I still don’t see your point.” 

“He’s got a crush on a person he’s actually seen, is my point,” Louis says. “Someone that doesn’t just send him weird jokes and ask him useless questions.” 

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Zayn says, sounding unimpressed again. “You’re Louis Tomlinson! You’re charming as fuck, even if no one’s looking at your face. I’m sure Harry wouldn’t say no to a little meet and greet.” 

Louis rolls his eyes and doesn’t say anything. Zayn nudges him in the ribs. He’s quiet when he speaks. 

“You really like him, yeah?” 

Louis nods. “Yeah. That’s weird, innit? Like. Don’t even know what his voice sounds like. Is that possible? To like someone based on -- on just words?” 

“Sure,” Zayn says, and he makes it sound easy as anything. “Dunno why it wouldn’t be.” 

“Right,” Louis says quietly, chewing on his bottom lip. “What do I do?” 

Zayn laughs. “You tell him. Or, you like, ask to meet him. Or something.” He shrugs, and Louis nods. He can do that. He can totally ask Harry to meet up for lunch, or something. If he says no, then Louis will know that he’s like, not interested in being face-to-face friends. If he says yes then maybe Louis will be able to better work out his feelings. Or something. 

Whatever. Either way, Louis can totally, totally do this. 

\---

Louis can’t do this. 

It’s been three days since he’s sent Harry a message. All right, that’s a lie. He’s replied to the messages that Harry’s sent, but he hasn’t sent any of his own when usually it’s more than just a back and forth. Their relationship involves a lot of sending random thoughts to one another and any jokes or funny stories they come across. Louis has been trying to ask Harry out to lunch, but he can’t get the phrasing right and every time he thinks he’s got it, he deletes the whole thing in a fit of anxiety and closes his laptop. 

So, it’s not going super well. 

Harry doesn’t seem to have noticed, and just keeps sending short messages throughout the day like normal. Louis is thankful for it, because he’d probably be going even crazier otherwise. 

After a full work day of reading and proofing, he decides to treat himself to a pre-dinner pastry from the coffee shop. And maybe the calm atmosphere will help chill him out enough to finally, finally ask Harry out on a lunch date. 

Liam’s not there, probably because it’s so late in the day, but the blond bloke is. Louis gives him his order, slightly unnerved by how excited the barista seems to see him there. He pushes it out of his mind and takes a seat at a table by the window and opens his laptop up. 

_Harry,_ he types, and lets out a breath. 

_feel free to say no, because no pressure or anything, but I was wondering if you’d want to get lunch with me, maybe? this weekend. let me know!_

That’s okay, isn’t it? Doesn’t sound too awkward or over-eager, but also not overly serious. Maybe he ought to try making a joke out of it? No, no, because then it’d be awkward if Louis had to explain that it wasn’t actually a joke and he did want to have lunch with him. Right. Okay. Right. He can do this! All he has to do is click send. 

He takes a deep breath, and then another. And another and another and -- 

“Harry!” 

Louis’ head snaps up so quickly that his neck twinges, and he scans the room, his eyes falling on a young girl at the front, leaning over the counter and talking to -- to the curly-headed barista. Fuck, Louis hadn’t realized he was working this late. His heart rabbits in his throat, startled by the strange sense of serendipity. He’d thought. Well, he’s not really sure what he’d thought, exactly. It startled him to hear the name, is all. 

“Harry,” the girl says again, clearly flirting -- Louis can’t really blame her there; the boy’s cute -- “What’s your secret? You make the best drinks.” 

Barista Harry smiles at her, sliding a carry out cup over the counter to her. “It’s all in the wrist,” he says, and something bizarre clicks into place in Louis’ head. He’s shouting across the room before he can stop to think about it. 

“Harrybananass?!” 

Oh fuck. Oh _fuck_ , why’d he do that? Why’d he say that? The shop’s not crowded, but people are turning to look at him. Before he can hide behind his laptop, the barista catches his gaze, his eyes wide as well. They probably both look like weird owls or something. 

“Louis?” Barista Harry asks in his deep, rumbly voice and Louis’ brain short circuits a little. He can’t help it. He laughs. 

He barks out a laugh when Harry’s said his name and he keeps laughing as Harry comes out from behind the counter and over to his table. He stands, sort of distantly aware that people are staring at them, and that he probably looks like a lunatic, but this is all so -- It’s just so -- Do things like this actually happen?

“I’ve just written you an email,” he says, once Harry’s reached his table. Harry’s mouth -- his beautiful, beautiful plush mouth oh god -- twitches into a brilliant smile and Louis feels his knees go weak. “Asking you to lunch.” 

“You have?” 

Louis nods. He can feel his hands shaking and he can feel the distance between them like a gulf of emptiness, or maybe like a black hole, trying to suck him in and take him apart, atom by atom. “This weekend. If you like.” 

Harry lets out a watery-sounding laugh and takes a step forward. Louis takes one as well, though he doesn’t consciously register the movement. Harry reaches out, tentatively pressing his fingertips to Louis’ cheeks. The touch is electrifying, zapping straight down Louis’ spine and grounding him to the floor. Harry takes another step closer, so close that Louis has to tilt his head up to see him properly. God, but he’s so _tall_. 

“I hoped it was you,” Harry says, still sounding as if he’s about to cry. “I wanted it to be you so badly.” 

“Me too,” Louis says. “I mean when you said you worked at a coffee shop I thought ‘well maybe’, but then I thought ‘no, things don’t work out like that’.” 

Harry smiles. “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says, and Louis exhales in a rush. 

“Please, oh my --” 

He’s cut off by Harry’s lips on his and his big, warm hands holding his face and holding him in place. He smells like cinnamon and coffee and tastes faintly of cream, like he’s been sneaking little tastes of it when no one’s looking. His lips are soft and warm and feel absolutely perfect against Louis’ own and he’s one hundred percent sure that this is the best moment of his entire life. 

“So,” he says, when Harry’s pulled away for a breath. “Are you going to lunch with me?” 

“Only if it’s dinner and you let me cook,” Harry says, and kisses him again before he can respond. 

Louis’ sure Harry knows he’s saying yes anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> true story, I jacked the "I hoped it was you. I wanted it to be you so badly" from You've Got Mail. Also sort of the entire concept, but without the parts that made me cringe. thanks for reading!


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